Taken By My Fiancé's Uncle - Chapter 22: Chapter 22

When Lorraine didn't respond immediately, Zackery leaned in. "Well? Is he working late again? Has something happened at Moore Group?"
Lorraine stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. She was done with Stephen.
Raquel lifted Lorraine's phone with exaggerated care, presenting it to Zackery like a sacred offering. "New brides can be so bashful," she cooed. "They often hesitate to make these calls themselves. Why don't you do it for her?"
"Fine," Zackery agreed.
"No." Lorraine and her father spoke simultaneously, their voices clashing in the tense air.
Zackery's gaze turned to ice as it locked onto Lorraine. "Explain."
A cold wave of terror crept up Lorraine's spine. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "I'm divorcing him."
The dining room went ice-cold—each word spoken hung frozen between them.
Zackery's face twisted with rage, his glare dangerous. "What did you just say? Say that again."
"Now, now," Raquel interjected, "all couples argue. Isn't divorce a bit extreme?" Her attempt at "mediation" only poured oil on the flames.
"But he's gay." Lorraine's voice trembled. "I can't stay married to a gay man—"
A steak knife whizzed past her throat, cutting her words short.
"What does that matter?" Zackery roared, surging to his feet and storming over to Lorraine. "He's a Moore heir. You're his wife. That's the only thing that counts here."
Lorraine's mind went blank. She couldn't believe her father had known the truth all along.
Each thunderous step Zackery took toward her crushed another piece of her spirit, extinguishing what little hope remained.
Lorraine pushed back her chair and stood. Without a word, she turned toward the dining room door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Zackery's voice boomed behind her, raw with fury.
"I... I need the bathroom," she murmured, forcing her voice to stay even. It was a weak excuse, but she had to try. Every second in that room felt like waiting for the blow to fall.
She'd barely made it ten steps when fingers tangled viciously in her hair. A brutal yank sent her crashing backward. Her head struck the marble floor with a sickening thud.
Pain exploded across her scalp as her vision swam. Through the dizzying haze, Zackery's contorted face loomed above her.
"Call Stephen!" he roared. "I won't tell you again!"
"No." The word came out clearer than she expected. Calling Stephen would mean surrender, and she was done surrendering.
Zackery's expression darkened impossibly further. He drew back his foot, the heavy tread of his shoe hovering directly above her face.
"Mr. Shaw!" A voice interrupted the tension. The door guard came running, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Zackery's temper flared at the interruption. "What is it now?"
"It's the Moores! Their car just pulled up!" the guard gasped.
Lorraine saw the boot hovering above her head suddenly withdrawing.
Raquel rushed over to Zackery. "Look at your shirt. It's wrinkled," she muttered, plucking at the wrinkles. "This button's barely hanging on." Her voice trembled, panic edging every word.
Zackery snapped for a servant to fetch a mirror. He straightened his collar, re-fastened his jacket, and ran a comb through his hair before squaring his shoulders.
Raquel didn't waste a second. Her hands smoothed the floral print stretched across her dress before her fingers dug sharply into Lorraine's waist. "Keep your mouth shut," she hissed through clenched teeth.
Lorraine's head still throbbed from earlier, and now her side burned where Raquel had pinched her. "Then ease up if you want me quiet," she muttered through gritted teeth.
Lorraine's delicate skin showed every mark, and Raquel knew she bruised easily.
"Enough! Stand up straight and open the door for our guests," Zackery snapped.
The quiet of the hall was broken by the smooth purr of approaching engines.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a stop outside the gate. Like all vehicles owned by the Moore family, it bore a distinguished license plate—the sort that commanded silent recognition.